“Why did you do it?” Wakatya asked as she walked beside Xala. The other three were up ahead on the street they walked down, headed towards one of the greenspaces Brook worked for. “Why did you send him on a wild basilisk chase?”

  “Because, that’s where they were.” He glanced at her, hands behind his back, shawl gently flowing in the underground breeze. “How he gets there, I leave up to him.”

  “You actually found them? How? That spell you used, it doesn’t access that place.”

  “You understood what I cast?”

  “I’ve used it before. To help people, the same way you did. Except, you used different methods. Older ones, too.”

  “Older magic typically has more nuance.” Frederick Yumis, the man Xala fed upon the previous night, had taught him how efficient magic had become in the Fourth Era. Streamlined and practically brutalist in design. Instead of interwoven spells, combos of basic spells were preferred by the masses. “Older formulas also yield more productive results, in exchange for higher cost and complexity.”

  “I know that, but how do you? To be taught that, you would have had to be trained by the Mystics themselves, and yet you said you were self taught and had some training with mentors. I don’t know of a single nation on the planet who has widespread arcane education that could teach what you know like the back of your hand.”

  “Did I not mention I also perused grimoires frequently? Once you learn how to protect yourself from curses and hexes, old tomes provide quite a lot of insight.”

  “Stop.” Wakatya halted in place. Xala followed suit. “You’re telling half-truths. What? You think I’ve never met an actual Fae? You practically copy them.”

  “Is that a bad thing?”

  “When I’m asking questions, I prefer a full truth or a full lie. It tells me who I’m speaking to.”

  “I’m a foreigner. A refugee of a province filled with strife. I don’t like telling the full truth, nor do I enjoy fully lying, because then you would know where I am from. If you know where I am from, then you could get me sent back. Or, simply, tell the wrong people and make my life infinitely more difficult. You don’t trust me. That much is plain. But,” he looked toward Colhern, who was further up ahead, right as he glanced back and waved toward the two of them. “I have never met anyone as kind as that man.” He looked back to her after he waved back. “In the small time I’ve known him, he’s become precious. So, if you’re worried about the kind of person I am, know that I care about him. A lot. Is that enough for you?”

  Wakatya stared at Xala, their eyelines matched, and mauled over his words. She huffed a sigh from her nose, sucked on her teeth, and nodded, “You met him last night.”

  “I did. What of it?”

  “A bit fast, don’t you think?”

  “Entirely. But, I am going at his pace. I like it.”

  She simmered in silence before she relented, “Fine. I understand.” She turned and walked to catch up to the others. Xala matched her step as she said, “It’s funny. You’re just his type.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yeah. Bitchy and pretty.”

  “Ah. Brilliant isn’t typical for him?”

  Wakatya smirked. “Brilliant is a stretch.”

  “Aw, you wound me.” He chuckled to himself.

  “What are you two up to back here?” Lilith held her hands on her hips, “Katya, you’re being nice, right?”

  “I’m just getting to know him better.”

  “Well, do it with the rest of us!” Lilith got between them, hooked her arms with Xala’s and Wakatya’s, and marched onward with the boys in tow. “So, Xala, you slept with Colhern last night?”

  “Lil!” Colhern gave her a baffled look.

  “Relax!” She leaned over to Xala, “He said you guys didn’t do anything, but…?”

  “Ah,” Xala finally understood the innuendo. “No, he just fell asleep in the middle of a conversation. I eventually followed.”

  Lilith pursed her lips, shrugged, and whispered into Xala’s ear, “What did you look up on his Lectern?”

  Shock slithered through his senses. He offered an expression of confused ambivalence, but her knowing smile made his countenance falter for a split second.

  “Hehe, Col, can I see your lec?”

  “Why?”

  “I’ve got a new update for it! Something I’ve been working on so your online presence can’t be traced.”

  “Lil, why would I need that? I barely use it for anything besides watching fights and looking up places to eat.”

  “Ugh, so the government and corporations can’t watch what you do online?! How many times do I have to tell you that they can use that information for anything?!”

  “Fine, fine, I really don’t want to get an earful of that right now,” he plucked his disc out of his pocket, handed it over, and she immediately got to work. She opened up the display, which was exactly as it was the last time Colhern last looked at it — Xala’s photographic memory always helped him leave no trace behind — and got to work flipping through the different systems.

  Xala’s eyes narrowed. She knew he had been on his Lectern, kept it a secret, and now wanted to modify it to leave no trace? Her ominous behavior put her on his reticle.

  She gave a satisfied sigh when she finished, handed it back, and said, “There! Plus, it's security stuff a celebrity like you should already have without me nagging you.”

  “Lil, I’m not a rockstar. I’m just a pit fighter. Who is going to come after my data?”

  “Anyone! That’s the point! These two already let me do it for theirs,” she waved her hand to Brook and Wakatya, who held their tongues and seemed queasy at the thought of her jumping into her conspiracies. Lilith then looked to Xala and said, “Do you have one? I could download it onto your system too.”

  “Oh, no, I don’t. Nor do I really want one. There is something I just don’t trust about them.”

  “Hah! I knew I liked you. I hate them too.”

  “Lil, you have a system built into your nervous system,” Brook grunted.

  “One I designed myself! Much more efficient, much safer, much more modifiable.”

  “She once gave me one of her homemade Lecterns,” Brook added, “And when I turned it on, I had access to literally every Tome imaginable. I couldn’t sleep for days because of the stuff that popped up constantly.”

  “Oh, Brook, that was one of my first models! Besides, how is it my fault you didn’t know how to curate your feed so you didn’t see that stuff?”

  “Curating it meant looking at it, girl. No thank you.”

  She shrugged, nudged Xala, and said, “Don’t get one. Besides, there are spells mages can use to access the Lyceum anyways, so if there’s anything you need to know just find one of them.”

  Xala raised his eyebrows, looked toward Colhern, held out his hand, and asked, “Can I see yours? I’m curious to see what spellwork powers it.” Colhern dug into his pocket again, groaned, and handed it over for the second time. He held it in his palm, turned it around to view its different angles, snapped his free hand’s fingers, and summoned a rune that immediately began to deconstruct the metallic device.

  “Oh, man, please tell me you can put that back together, Lil.” Colhern seemed pained as he walked beside Xala and fully-body cringed.

  Xala paid them no mind as he watched the energies within the layers upon layers of metal, each one finely encoded and engraved with all sorts of runes and glyphic patterns. “A very complex form of imbuement.” He peeled apart the layers telekinetically, made them hover in front of him as they walked, and examined each segment of etching. “Gold is a curious conductor. And, dangerous. What happens when an Amquel human finds out you have one of these on you, and uses their powers to bury shrapnel directly into your blood stream?”

  “Uh-huh, that’s what I’m saying. I use platinum. Nobody fucks with platinum.”

  “Interesting. These patterns are similar to methods of providing pseudo-sentience to inanimate objects. Do these little things think?”

  “Nah, but they are just artificially intelligent enough to interface with the Lyceum. These use entanglement to connect to matching signatures within the Lyceum so they can be accessed from anywhere at any time.”

  “Entanglement?” He glanced toward her. “You mean that, in every single one of these, there is a connection between it and something in another location, and both can be interacted with at any given time and have an effect on the other instantaneously?” He looked back at it. “How in Merces can they possibly defend against defilement and manipulation? I can already imagine the schematics for a spell that could target one Lectern, its opposing ‘signature’ and have it spread to other Lecterns until it infects the whole Lyceum.”

  Lilith was speechless for a moment, before she chuckled and said, “Well, yes. I mean, that’s been done many times before. The Guardians of the Lyceum just have to constantly adapt to new threats. Though it's so closely monitored and guarded, nowadays by Model O-Three's, that it’s basically impossible to hack the broader Lyceum, but individual Lecterns are still at risk.”

  Xala frowned. He had read an article on the Model 03s. Hyper-intelligent computational aseveri automatons. Artificially intelligent machines. His jaw clenched as he considered their very existence. He remembered when the first aseveri roamed about, and mechanical slaves entered the markets for the first time in the Red Empire. They were laughed at for being insipid, stupid monstrosities and mockeries of life. Simulacrums of mortality imbued within immortal bodies. To the organic citizens of Crimsire they were an affront, and to the sentient undead Xala encountered in the sewers they were absolute jokes.

  Now, they were equals.

  His lip twitched. He was always in the camp that they were inferior. Especially inferior to undead. Most things were.

  Xala sighed, nodded to himself, and pieced the machine back together. Once fully reformed, he handed it back to Colhern in working condition. The relieved sigh from the man made him smile as he said, “An interface spell shouldn’t be too difficult. Are such things paid for here?”

  Wakatya answered, “You’ll be able to find spell tomes and grimoires from shops around the city that can teach you stuff, but they’re usually pretty costly. Otherwise, if you enroll in the College of Mystics they’ll be able to teach you for free, but in exchange for loyalty. Most people down here are taught by their family, private teachers, or the Faetan University, where I work. It works alongside the College but they usually leave us alone to do our own things. Recently, they’ve just been downright neglectful.”

  In Xala’s case, he would much prefer the easy, elegant, wondrous practice of murdering a mage for their knowledge. In a place like Fae Town he could only imagine the seedy underbelly that existed here for rogue wizards and dark sorcerers.

  Speaking of which, he was getting hungry.

  When they turned the corner, Brook stepped out in front of them and held out his arms to present the quaint, elegantly cared for greenspace beneath the pale-gold rays of the Dayrift above, “Welcome to Justinian’s Grove!”

  It was situated between a dozen tall, skinny apartment towers with an interconnected circular outlet mall at their bases. People walked in and around the greenery, which was surrounded by a shallow moat that children played in and skipped across rocks on. Animal totems imbued with blue energies littered the rocky, hilly, dense terrain. Plants with massive leaves create a canopy for the flowers and wild grass beneath who all competed for trace amounts of sunlight, but were given care and attention by the caretakers who roamed around the space.

  Xala blinked at the display, the vibrancy of the area, and smiled. In a place of shadows, debauchery, hedonism, and dark deals, areas such as these thrived in the light. He raised a hand to his temple and activated his arcane sight, glyphs whirred within his irises, and he inspected the natural magic before him. Except, instead of just druidic sorceries, which often emitted a vibrant, verdant coloration, there were also bluish animal spirits that matched the totems. He saw bears, rabbits, deer, and other surface animals leisurely scattered about. They all existed in harmony, and seemed appeased by the work of their caretakers.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?” Wakatya asked.

  “Completely.”

  “I’m glad!” Brook chuckled and gestured for them to follow, “This place only recently got popular, since it's one of the cheaper Dayrifts to live near. I live right up there,” he pointed to a terraced stone tower, where balconies were stacked ontop of balconies in a dangerously slanted manner. Xala figured each terrace must have made up half the square footage of each home. “So I usually spend my time here. But, I get contracted for work all over, so it’s really a roll of the dice to see where I am any given day.”

  When they got closer, Xala turned his head to look up into the eyes of a tall stag. None except Wakatya could see him, and yet it stood defiantly in the middle of the street as people were subconsciously compelled to walk around him. The stag looked directly into Xala’s eyes, its own wide and cautious. It leaned its head forward and studied Xala for a long time.

  He was being assessed. His soul was being observed, to see if it was allowed entry into the spiritual garden.

  Thankfully, in all matters, Xala was an excellent liar.

  His very soul was hidden by his arcana. One of the few gifts he was taught by The Master.

  “I think he likes you,” Wakatya whispered as the stag nodded its head and strutted away.

  “I’m honored.”

  Once inside the grove, Brook put his hands on his hips and said, “Well, this is me. My shift is starting soon, so if you guys want to just hang out,” he looked to Colhern and Xala, the relatively unemployed duo, “Feel free. I’ll see you two later?”

  “Yup! I’ll pick you two up at around seven,” Lilith gave Xala a wave, “I’ll see you later! Colhern, be good to him!”

  Wakatya nodded, “Stay out of trouble.”

  “Sounds good. I’ve got a match tonight, so if you guys want to come by the pits, I’ll be there.” Colhern looked down at Xala and raised an eyebrow, “You wanna’ see some professional fighting?”

  His eyes widened and a broad smile followed, “Yes.”

  “Whew!” Lilith cheered, “That’s the spirit. Alright, see you guys later!” Lilith turned on her heels and marched off with Wakatya in the other direction.

  Brook got to work immediately, stepped under one of the large leaves that shrouded a display of shade-loving glowing blue orchids, and used his verdant sorcery to monitor and check on their development. Xala walked closer, leaned in for a closer look, and said, “You know, I’ve always been enamored by druidic magic.” He looked toward the inscriptions on Brook’s body, which all had a verdant-aqua-blue glow to them. The power was faint and soft — evidence of his dim nature. The runes that floated around his fingers were similar to claw marks made into gruff, crude symbols. “There is an innate, elegant simplicity to it.”

  “Thanks, I think. I could tell you used the wizard’s version of floramancy, back at the teahouse. Though, even if it’s my specialty, I’ll probably never be as good as you,” His smile betrayed his eyes.

  Xala tilted his head, looked at the magic he employed, the green energies that flowed and sifted through the plants, and smirked. “Do you know why it comes easily to me?”

  “Uh, because you’re talented?”

  “Hm, yes, but no. You see, unlike you, I don’t value the flowers. Not fundamentally. I have never loved flowers, nor nature. I view them as objects before I view them as organisms. I’ve heard that druids know what the plants think and feel, when they are in pain, when they are sick, and can tend to them like a nurse would a patient.” Xala knelt down, gently brushed the petals of an orchid, and said, “I view them like a puzzle. A puzzle made of pieces that are sometimes out of alignment and need correcting. Or, I add pieces to make a new whole. Instead of another living thing, it is simply a raw matter to me. So, I could never have what you have. Your connection to that which you work with is far more impressive than technical ability, to me.”

  Brook’s magic faltered, sizzled and dissipated, as he stared at Xala in awe. “Huh. I mean, I’ve heard that sort of stuff from other druids, but never from a wizard. I’ve never really looked at it that positively.”

  “Start. Talent takes someone far, but having a basic ability to love your craft is far more important.”

  “You sound like you don’t.”

  “Oh, I love magic. It is one of the few things that has ever kept me sane, kept me warm, made me feel safe. It is dear to my heart, but,” he shrugged, “Sometimes, I love magic more than the world it affects. Most of the time, really.”

  Brook frowned, patted Xala’s shoulder with a massive hand, and said, “You know how a druid thinks, or should think. Practice it. You might see the bright side to the natural world."

  Xala chuckled, “You are kind.” He nodded, stood up, held his hands behind his back, turned on his heel to look for Colhern, and smiled when he saw him doing a handstand for a group of awestruck children. He tilted his head as he watched Colhern perform a few more moves while parents looked on from their cafes and seats with intrigued expressions. “You all are. It is a strange thing to come across.”

  Brook stood up beside Xala, about three heads taller, and chuckled, “Thanks. All four of us grew up hard. But, we looked out for each other. As for him, Col hasn’t always been,” he laughed when Colhern stumbled and fell, but bounced right back up and pretended it was intentional for the group of giggling kids, “this way. He’s a lot better now.”

  “Troubled teenager?”

  “Hah, get him to tell you a few stories. He laughs when he tells them now, but he didn’t always. Aight, I’ve got work to do. You two have fun, it was nice meeting you, Xala.”

  “Pleasure’s all mine,” they parted ways, Xala walked closer to Colhern’s audience, and held his hands behind his back as he watched with a smile. He addressed Colhern in the middle of a slow-motion spinning kick, “Enjoying yourself?”

  “Oh, hey!” He pantomimed and said slowly. His audience giggled and laughed as he continued, “Here’s my friend, Xala! Want to see some magic?”

  They clapped and cheered, some seated, others bundles of energy, while they looked between Xala and Colhern with full attention. He had never performed before. Unless slaughtering a father in an artistic fashion that made his family scream louder than the last family counted. He thought about what he could do, laughed when he thought of something, and snapped his fingers.

  Inscriptions around his ankles lit up and produced a swirling ribbon of symbols wrapped around his calves. He kicked off the ground and levitated above his crowd of fascinated spectators. He floated in the air, moved and contorted his body, and made his shawl and baggy clothes billow and flow around him in mesmerizing ways. As he did, he cast more spells to make the dye of his clothes alternate and change patterns, to turn the lavender of his shawl into an animated display of running lions, dancing fawns, and thrashing waves. The black dye constantly changed and shifted colors, formed rainbows and technicolored displays, and sometimes lost coloration all together, only for globs of dye to float around Xala before splattering his body and absorbing back into the fabric.

  The crowd went wild as they clapped and cheered, with Colhern below him done with his performance and a slight smirk on his face. More spectators paused to watch, amazed by Xala’s display.

  At the end, Xala stood upright in the air, moved the dye across his body, before he cast a spell to form a black cloud above him, cast himself in dark shade, and snapped his fingers. All the dye emitted a bright lavender glow that glittered and sparkled as he moved. He was met with loud applause as the cloud was dismissed, his clothes returned to their original black and lavender, and he landed on the ground with a bow.

  Colhern chuckled, turned to the crowd, waved and said, “You’ve all been great! That’s it for us, enjoy your days!”

  “Aww, please, do more!” One of the kids shouted, another said, “Again! Again!” The rest soon followed with similar pleas and demands, while adults looked on with amused expressions.

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  Xala twirled toward Colhern, grabbed his bicep, and said, “Aw, one more trick.” He looked toward Colhern, raised his eyebrows, and moved his hand to cast another spell. A white-purple glitter lotus flower blossomed from his palm, emitted a bright glow, and exploded around them. Miniature fireworks flew into the air, while glitter and white smoke enveloped both him and Colhern, and teleported them to the edge of the plaza so they could watch their audience busy themselves with the bright colors and distracting lights.

  Colhern gasped as the smoke dissipated, shocked by the sudden displacement, and said, “Woah! That was amazing! I’m surprised you joined.”

  “Oh? Just because I talk like an old man I must behave like one?” He raised an eyebrow as he turned on his heel and strutted down the street. “I can have fun, from time to time.”

  “I guess,” he threw his hands up and walked alongside, “Well, we’ve got about seven hours before my fight starts. Got anything you want to do until then?”

  “Not sure, but, maybe something like,” blood filled his nostrils. His pupils dilated, his focus became absolute, and his head snapped in the direction of the source. He stared at the open window of a seventh floor apartment. Fresh blood existed inside. “Can you get us something to drink? We can meet up here.”

  “Huh? What? Are you looking at something?” He followed Xala’s eyes, but did not notice the open window.

  Xala turned back to Colhern, made a small, cute smile, and said, “I wanna’ check something out. I won’t take long, I just feel like exploring on my own for a second.”

  Colhern frowned. “I don’t really understand. I can go with you? This area is safe, but I wouldn’t want you to go alone.”

  More freshly spilt blood filled his senses. A new wound. He stared at Colhern, who stared at Xala like he had grown two heads. He swallowed his impatience and said, “Thank you, and I’m sorry. I just like wandering sometimes, on my own. I like being with you, but my social battery needs to be recharged.” Some bullshit he saw in a video the night before. “A quiet walk tends to help. I’ll only be gone for ten minutes, if that.”

  Colhern sighed, nodded, and said, “Katya gets that way sometimes. Ugh, I wish you had a Lectern so you could call me if anything happens.”

  Another fresh wound. He was getting more impatient. “I know a spell to send a message telepathically over a long distance. If I’m in trouble, I’ll send you the exact route I took to get where I am from this spot. Ok?”

  Colhern tilted his head, “Oh, that’s handy. Ok, ok, but please, don’t hesitate if you feel unsafe. I’d hate it if anything happened to you,” he smiled. Colhern turned and walked back to the plaza, hiding his face from the group of disgruntled kids who had caught on to their escape.

  When he was out of sight, Xala turned himself invisible.

  Inside the seventh story apartment, a gruesome scene existed. The middle of a murder. A brutish, extremely muscular Alouee orc stood over his victim, a scrawny Dawn-Kin elf man. The elf was covered in blood, it poured from his mouth, and his throat had a deep red welt. His vocal chords were ruined. He choked on his own blood as the orc straddled him, his weight too much for the elf to do anything about. The orc wore a black jacket with the symbol of the Feathered Serpent on his back. His undercut hair was pulled back into a tight warrior’s bun in the back. His yellow eyes and pale desaturated green skin gave him a ghoulish appearance, especially paired with his four battle-worn tusks. He had a warhammer slung around his back that teemed with imbued fire magic. One strike from that thing would set an ice sculpture on fire.

  “Where is it, Don? You were given a gift, in confidence, but you broke that trust. So, where is it?”

  The elf choked on his own blood and bile as he raspily, worthlessly screamed for help through a wet cough.

  “Not good enough.” The orc raised his fist, slammed it down, and crushed Don’s skull with a final blow. The elf’s body spasmed, his throat released a rattle of released air bubbles through the saliva and spit and blood and vomit, before he went limp. The orc smiled. He enjoyed his job a lot. Especially when the target was wanted alive or dead. He rose to his feet, stomped across the shabby, barely decorated apartment, and rummaged through the elf’s belongings. “Where’d you keep it, you little shit?”

  He found a metal box in the crawl space under the stone bed. He chuckled, dragged it out, laid it on the mattress, ripped it open with his bare hands, and found a gold ring with a ruby-encrusted octopus on it. He plucked it out, inspected it with a smile, and held it in his fist.

  The metal began to heat up. He felt the slow burn, before it became a sudden, scalding, white-hot inferno. He roared as he tossed the ring back onto the bed, watched the nearly-molten metal burn a hole in the bed, and stumbled backward.

  When he stepped back, he felt hundreds of small strands make contact with him. He jumped, but he could not move. He turned his head and saw a massive spider web holding him in place. The spider silk broke from the walls and wrapped itself around his body. He grunted and thrashed and roared as spider silk enshrouded his body, muzzled him, and sent him to the ground. He squirmed and roared, eyes full of fury, but he was compromised.

  On his back, with no way out, Xala appeared. His Moorish form stared down at the orc, who went still. The orc stared up at him in horror. However, unlike Frederick, that horror morphed into generational hatred and defiance. He thrashed harder, screamed obscenities beneath his muzzle, but ultimately remained helpless.

  Xala stepped forward, his black robes dragged across the ground, and he knelt down to look into the orc’s eyes. “You are delicious, to me. A machine designed for murder, violence, and destruction.” He stepped over the orc’s stomach, sat down, and straddled him as he met the orc face to face. “You know, your kind fascinates me. It is as if you were genetically predisposed to become undead. Specifically, bound undead. Your strength and general dimness, lack of magical potential, practically begs for reanimation.” He got closer, stuck out his long, forked tongue, and licked the length of the orc’s wrapped, harmless tusk. “I wonder if you taste as good as you look, orc.”

  The orc remained defiant. Hatred fueled his entire body.

  “Hm. You know, some people do not enjoy when their prey suffers. It breaks down something in the meat, makes it dry, pale, and tasteless. When an animal is slaughtered peacefully, without pain, without stress, it makes them tender, rich, and pink. A similar process happens for humanoids. It is a shared flavor profile. But, I rather enjoy the taste of stress. Afterall, I’m not eating the meat.” He gave each of the orc’s eyes a single kiss, and whispered, “I’m savoring the blood.”

  Xala lifted his head up, smiled down at the orc, before he lunged down and sank his fangs into the orc’s neck. He lapped and sucked. Every drop tasted divine. It was a dark, rich flavor full of hardship, anger, and recently-acquired nutrition. Xala could taste the hard life this orc lived, the rise from poverty into gangbanger wealth, and soon, would acquire the memories of it all.

  Except, the orc’s soul was stubborn.

  It did not leave so willingly.

  Xala paused. He stopped sucking, lapped at what more blood came out, as the orc was on the brink of unconscious death. Sweat struggled to exit his pores, his breath was near non-existent, his eyes drifted side to side in a daze, and he seemed ready to leave the world. But, still, his soul refused to relent. Xala snarled, reached up to sprawl his hand over the orc’s face, closed his eyes, and meditated. His consciousness sought out the orc’s soul to directly interface with it.

  Xala opened his eyes in a new world.

  It was a starry place. Floating, dead islands drifted together in a waterless archipelago. On a nearby island, the orc he had just killed sat before one doorway. Xala was in an astral plane. Not the Astral Plane, evident from the dream-like surreality of the energy here, but perhaps a low-level of it. He sighed, crouched down, and launched himself toward the island. He soared higher, flew further, as a lower force of gravity let him glide toward the island and landed gently.

  Xala put his hands behind his back, glanced down at his naked body, grimaced, looked back up, walked forward, and asked, “What is this place?”

  The orc, also naked, grunted, “Fuck you care, asshole?”

  “Hm. Your soul is being difficult. I can abide tainted blood, but a soul that does not give easily? Utterly new to me.”

  “What? Everyone you’ve ever killed wanted to die?”

  “No. My form of consumption simply cleaves their soul from their body with ease. Your body refuses to let you go. I could resort to more profane, forceful, or violent forms of acquisition, but I am not that cruel.”

  “Huh. You lick my face, laugh as you’re killing me, and say you aren’t cruel?”

  “Cruelty is a spectrum, dear. One I fall on in the extreme, but not the absolute extreme.”

  He sighed, looked up at the archway that led to a bleak, desolate landscape. It looked like a massive underground cavern, where lava and fire and blood covered the floor and painted the ceiling in screams. People there were endlessly tortured and dunked in scalding flames that both burned and healed them eternally. Monsters and Parallels, likely lesser demons, roamed around like gods who rellished in the pain of those who suffered.

  “Huh. Is this your destined afterlife?”

  “Apparently. I expected more options.”

  “Expected?”

  “What? You fuckin’ kill me and don’t know the first thing about my people?”

  “Uh, sorry?” His sarcasm was thinly veiled by curiosity.

  “Ugh. My people, when we die, enter this place. We get to choose where we go. Kill us, but not our brains, and we go on long enough to get brought back and talk about it. Or, die and go where we please.”

  “I see. Your afterlife doesn’t seem that appealing. So, why does your soul remain difficult?”

  “Don’t know, smartass.”

  Xala frowned. This would not do. If this orc had a choice, but only one, then was he claimed? Were orcish souls simply harder to harvest? The metaphysics of it all boggled his mind, enough to cause temporary frustration. Until, he got an idea.

  “Do you want to come back?”

  The orc twisted in place, eyes wide, “What? What are you talking about?”

  “I can reanimate you.”

  “Uhm, fuck that. Why would I do that?”

  “Your soul and mortal body are already bound. The reason why it is here is because the body is no longer suitable to house your soul. However, if I kill you, and your soul remains here, I can reanimate you with it. You will be sentient, immortal, and far stronger.”

  “Sounds like a good deal. Too good.”

  “Of course, because you consent to your reanimation, I maintain total control over you. Though, while I am a cruel killer, I am not a cruel master. You would have your freedom, do as you please, walk as you wish, but when I call upon you, you will answer.”

  “A slave.”

  “Ah, yes, I suppose. Look at my scars.”

  “I see ‘em. They’re fucking gnarly.”

  “Yes. Some scars, when used with special tools, can even tarnish the soul. These were done by my former masters. No part of my body is unblemished. I would not do this to you.”

  “It’s still slavery.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” He looked toward the nightmare afterlife he was destined to enter. “Alternatively, you could go in there, and I would raise your corpse as a mindless husk.”

  “Ain’t that the same thing, but worse?”

  “No. I use vestiges of soul energy, not souls themselves, to reanimate corpses. Using whole souls creates far more advanced undead, but my level of control is advanced enough to do away with the bickering that comes from such a state.”

  “Can I get healed?”

  “Why? Do you deserve a second chance? So you can become a better person? Get a few better afterlives? I would have imagined you to be the materialistic type. Besides, undeath is the far better alternative. Especially one of mine. You would never get caught, barely have any responsibilities, and live forever however you please. No pain, immensely improved strength, and immunity to all disease.”

  “No pain? What undead isn’t in pain?”

  “Ones made by me.”

  “Heh. Does that ease the guilt you feel? Being a former slave making new ones?”

  “Aw, poor thing. Are you tied down by morality? Did you grow up wanting to be what you are now? Do you wish to tell me that you condemn me, when we can both see where you are destined to go? I don’t offer you a second chance. I offer you a rebirth. Besides, if I die, you will be released. You will become Awakened. Otherwise, you might serve me so well that I release you myself. What more could you want? A wage?”

  He shrugged. “A wage would be nice.”

  “Really?”

  “Kinda.”

  Xala sighed. “Well, I suppose I could kill a rich man, steal his soul, acquire his identity, and transfer the wealth over to you, to let you start growing on your own?”

  “Hah, fuck, you can do that, but you’re in Fae Town?”

  “I like it here.”

  “You know what I would do to get that level of freedom? That sort of, fuckin’, luck?”

  “Hm. Well, you have the chance to show me. What would you do for paradise on merces?”

  The orc sat in silence for a moment. He chewed on his own words and Xala’s. After a while, he sighed, bowed his head, and said, “Fine. But, I have conditions.”

  “Naturally.”

  “First, you do that shit to get me paid. I don’t want to wait forever for a promised reward. I want that shit in my account soon. Within the year. Second, don’t command me with some weird wizard shit. Just tell me what to do, and I’ll get it done. Third, don’t let me die.”

  Xala smiled. “I like these conditions. And, you’re willing to do whatever I need you to do?”

  “I’ve worked for a lot of people. A lot of fucked up people. Never a Moor, but,” he shuddered, “What’ll you have in store for me?”

  “Mmm, you would probably spend most of your time looking for prey for me. I prefer those like you, with violent histories and even more violent presents. It satisfies me to kill people like you. Though, I suppose non-gang members would be preferable. Make a list of justifiably wretched psychopaths and murderers and sexual predators, and help me feed on them. The more sadistic, the better.”

  “You’re interested in eating their souls? Why?”

  “I’ve spent a lot of time killing innocent people against my will. A mother, who died holding her babe, is within me. Before her, I considered everyone I killed fundamentally evil or corrupt in some way. And thus, everyone was. They all had a secret darkness to hide, hence why they were targeted for assassination. Then, I ate her. She was different. At that point, my master simply had me kill people for sport. For his own amusement. She is a lovely woman. I regret killing her. So, I want people I won’t regret killing.”

  The orc stared at Xala for a moment, disgusted and conscious of his own past, but eventually released a sigh, “Fuck. Eh, I think you’re a pussy. I enjoy killing. It makes me happy. But, I understand the logic.”

  Xala smirked, “Do we have a deal?” He held out his hand to shake. His long, black claws clicked together.

  “Deal.”

  They shook on it, Xala grinned, and his eyes became awash with green sorceries. His pupils drained out of his irises to fill the whites of his eyes and turn them into a pitch black. He whispered, “Welcome to your new life.” The astral plane around them began to decay and corrode, as green magic entwined with black ink-like strands soared through it and destroyed it island by island, star by star. It wrapped around the archway that led to the nightmare realm, collapsed it and melted it, and consumed all things in a miasma of dark magic.

  Xala returned to his physical body. He removed his fangs from the orc, sat up, and held his hand over the orc’s heart. His black ink writhed and twisted as his talons grew ribbons of sickly green energy. He held out his pointer finger, all the energy condensed into it, and shrouded it in death magic. He held his finger perpendicular to the orc’s chest, his long black talon aimed directly for his heart, and stabbed.

  A pulse of green arcana blasted from the orc’s heart throughout his body, turned the veins black on their way, decayed his arteries, and killed him instantly.

  With the soul still inside the corpse, engaged in the crumbling of its own death-realm, Xala moved his hands over the corpse. Sickly green magic swarmed around him, formed glyphs and runes, polygons whose faces inverted toward central points, wretched symbols from bygone eras, and a black thread that slithered and writhed within the energies.

  He held his hand out above the orc’s body, turned his palm upward, and raised his hand. The energies and spellwork condensed and slithered toward his palm, condensed into a dripping ethereal liquid, and with one word, “Rise,” the liquid became raw energy that swarmed like locusts, invaded the orifices of the dead, spilled into the fatal wounds on his neck and chest, and infested his body.

  The orc’s body began to grow back to its full shape, as necrotic magic swarmed through his vitals and replaced the blood that was once there with hollow, structured tissue. Blood no longer pumped through his heart. Instead, it was pure energy that maintained and preserved his flesh. Most of his organs were now useless, and the liquids and materials inside of him would be flushed out in time.

  When his body was reconstructed and stabilized, the energy swarmed to his brain and stitched his soul back to his body.

  With a loud gasp for air that had no use in dead lungs, Vulcan Ugrid rose. Xala had access to his memories, his thoughts, his feelings, and allowed them to flow as he stabilized the connection between his undead body and soul.

  Vulcan breathed heavily, stared at the ceiling, and laid flat. It did not take long for him to realize he did not need to breathe. He closed his mouth as Xala continued to work his magic over him. Xala worked like a silent surgeon, intricately moving Vulcan’s soul through his body, engaging his systems, and stitching metaphysical energies with physical tissue. Vulcan was silent as he watched and felt the tingling sensation. It felt like fresh water was flowing to different parts of his body, and when it passed, nothing remained. He was not cold. He was not hot. He did not feel discomfort. He only felt the presence of Xala straddling him, his bound body, but did not feel any negative sensations toward it. It was simply there. Something he was aware of, but did not feel strongly about in any way.

  When Xala was finished, he snapped his fingers and all the spider webs around Vulcan’s body dissolved into smoke. He leaned forward, looked Vulcan in the eye, face to face, and asked, “Better?”

  Vulcan flexed his hands. He felt different. Not exactly stronger, but everything seemed to work more easily. He did not have the skills to describe what he felt.

  “I guess?”

  Xala chuckled, “Good.” He stood up, stepped away from Vulcan, and watched him rise to his full, staggering height. “Huh, you must be eight feet tall!”

  “What? You couldn’t tell?” Vulcan spoke in a gruff tone. Thankfully, he still had his same tone and speech abilities.

  Xala shrugged and went over to Don, the brutalized elf on the floor. “Will he be missed?”

  “Probably.”

  “Would his death, like this, be expected?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Good.” Xala turned on his heels, craned his neck to maintain eye contact, and said, “Go about your business. Start writing up that list. As for your desire to kill, I’ve removed that. Or at least, sufficiently suppressed it. Your guilt free mind shall remain that way. However, I am curious about these Feathered Serpents you belong to. An interesting organization, if your memories are good evidence. Please, stay with them. I’m curious to see what I could do with you on the inside.”

  Vulcan frowned. His lips twitched around his tusks and his eyebrows pushed together. “You know their leader is an Exodi, right?”

  “Ah,” he placed a hand to his chin and contemplated. “Well, that does complicate things. Do you think you could stay out of his sight and smell?”

  “Nobody ever sees him, but his most loyal people are violently against the undead. You said you would hide me. How?”

  “I already have. You look exactly the same, I have modified your body and the energies within to create a hazy arcane signature, and your flesh will not rot. You may be undead, but you will appear perfectly living to any who take a peek. They’d have to cut you open to figure out what you really are.”

  “Huh. Alright, then,” he walked over to the bed, picked up the golden, ruby-encrusted ring he came for, sighed as he looked at it, and pocketed the jewelry. “Should I regret my decision?”

  Xala was already near the window, prepared to jump back out, when he paused and contemplated the question. To him, the afterlife was a scam. Lord Morl showed him countless afterlives, each one more ludicrous than the last. When he ripped souls from their afterlives, some protested the interruption of their harmonious paradise, while others were so shocked from a lack of pain that they were incoherent babblers. Those who presided over afterlives, who claimed souls from the material plane to use on their own, did not deserve the souls they claimed.

  But, if Gods did not deserve the souls they claimed, what did that make Xala? It was natural to hunt and consume the souls of the living. He was a Moor, afterall. Moors consumed the living and their memories to sustain themselves. All other species were nothing more than meat. How were the Gods any different?

  Xala sighed. The dilemma had existed within his mind for a long time. Even in his prison, he never cracked the answer for himself. He looked over his shoulder and addressed Vulcan, “I wouldn’t. Eternity in the world of the living is far better than the eternal gamble of the ones beyond.”

  He shrouded himself in invisibility, hopped out the window, slowed his descent, cleaned himself, changed his robes into his black outfit, and assumed his elven face when he landed. Xala dismissed his invisibility as he walked up toward a patient Colhern on his Lectern. “You didn’t wait long, I hope?”

  “Nah, almost ten minutes exactly. What, you have an internal clock too?” He asked as he handed over a cup of purple juice and cream. Xala took it gingerly, clearly confused by the colors and swirly whipped cream on top. “It’s a smoothie. Try it,” he stirred the contents of his green one idly as he watched with a slight smile.

  Xala frowned, shrugged, took a sip, and felt a wave of flavor cascade into his mouth.

  Sugar.

  This was sugar.

  He remembered the first and last time he had some. Morl and him had just burned down an encampment. The butchered commander had a box of sugar cubes. When Xala tasted it, he felt a sense of euphoria unlike any other.

  And the drink he now sucked from like a starved man was a whole lot sweeter.

  “Woah, slow down! You’ll get a,”

  Xala groaned as he felt a sharp, cold pain in his head. He looked up at Colhern through narrow eyes.

  “Brain freeze.” Colhern chuckled as he moderately sipped from his own, toasted their cups, and walked down the street away from the plaza. “Never had one?”

  “Never really had beverages with ice before.” He smacked his lips together. The sugar left a grainy layer of texture on his tongue and around his mouth, but he could not stop himself from having another sip.

  Colhern laughed, “Gods, I can’t wait to see your reaction to all sorts of stuff I bet you’ve never tried. Ever have a seafood boil?”

  “Uh, boiled seafood? Yes.”

  “No, no, you’ll see what I mean. In the meantime," he took a step closer in his stride, nudged Xala’s shoulder, and asked, “You feelin’ better after your walk?”

  Xala was fed and had a new minion. All he could do was smile up at Colhern and honestly say, “Immensely. Ah, and, your friends are lovely. I’m surprised you had me meet them so soon. Is it common in Feltkan to go from a first date straight to friends and family?”

  “Ah, no. I had plans with them for today, didn’t want to cancel, and figured you could use some help getting situated. I’m glad you like them, because you gave a great first impression.”

  “Oh, damn, I hadn’t even considered trying to be presentable. Did I do anything that would have soured their view of me?”

  “Haha, don’t worry. You were great. But, you talking to that preacher probably weirded them out. I thought it was cool how you were able to bounce back and forth with him. How did you do it?”

  “I’ve always been intrigued by philosophers and religious scholars. Preachers themselves amuse me, because I can run circles around them with ease. They read but they do not listen, they speak but do not articulate, and that which they believe is hardly represented in either. In my homeland, I liked going to the temple and quizzing the priests, clerics, and paladins. I often challenged them to games of wit and debates. Oftentimes, they won, being my seniors. But, on the rare occasion, I would stump them. The satisfaction I felt from the discussion alone was enough, but beating them? In their own field of study? Huh, that brought me more joy than any amount of debauchery could.”

  Colhern was quiet for a moment, nodded, and muttered, “So, instead of touching you, I should debate you to turn you on?”

  Xala’s cheeks flushed red. He turned his face away but kept his eyes on Colhern like a startled deer. “Eh, well, I,” he pursed his lips and shut his mouth. He was too flustered to return a response.

  Colhern just laughed and nudged Xala’s shoulder again, “So that’s a yes? Hmm, well, what’s something you feel like debating?”

  “It’s difficult to think of something, when I know your underlying purpose.”

  He leaned over, whispered in Xala’s ear, and said, “Do you mind?”

  Xala shook his head.

  Colhern smiled, straightened up, cleared his throat, and put on a fancy accent, “Well, Sir Xala, I must say, perhaps we ought to talk about matters of governance?! Tell me, how might this city’s sewage system be better implemented?”

  Xala laughed at the sudden shift, looked up at Colhern, and said, “You really don’t want to, huh?”

  “I have no idea what you mean, Sir Xala? However, if you come up with any alternative to how I might excite you, do let me know!”

  He was quiet for a moment, as he simply looked up at Colhern with narrow, contemplative eyes. Their eyes met, Colhern seemed a bit confused by the stare, before Xala said softly, “I wouldn’t mind seeing you punch someone.”

  It was Colhern’s turn to blush. Except, he did not hide it. Nor could he hide his delight. He bit his bottom lip, laughed through his teeth, and said, “If that’s all it takes, then I’ll be looking for you in the crowd tonight.” His wink sent a shiver down Xala’s spine in the best way possible.